Page 62 of Milo

Comfort.

In this moment, he is giving me comfort. He's holding me together. Literally. But I need more than comfort. I need more than to be held. I need to forget. I crane my neck up, my gaze piercing his.

"Make me forget, Milo," I whisper against his lips as I inch closer, his sweet breath filling my drowning lungs. "Please."

Milo stiffens, tightening his arms around my body as he says in a retrained, almost pained tone, "Not like this, tesoro…”

"Milo," I breathe out his name, desperation in my voice. "Please."

Milo's jaw tightens as he studies my face. He sees it. Sees me. And he's conflicted. Just like me. But we both want it. We've wanted it for so long. We wanted it. But now...now I need it.

"Are you sure, tesoro?" he asks in low murmur.

"Please..." I slowly drag my hand down his torso toward his cock. "I'm sure."

"No.” He pushes my hand away as he shakes his head.

"No?" I frown. "Why?"

"Because..." He's silent for a moment before he whispers, "It is you that needs to forget, not me."

"Wha-" My words are trampled as he drags his hand down my neck to the base of my throat. He glides his fingers underneath my robe, edging it away, making me shudder.

Oh, God.

"I will make you forget?—"

My breath hitches as his warm palm finds my breasts, his fingers rolling my nipples. Heat erupts in my core, my legs clenching from the ache.

"Everything."

I let out a moan, writhing under his touch as he rolls on top of me, pinning my hands over my head. He peers down at me like I'm his prey.

And I am. God, I am.

I am at his mercy, and I want him to be merciless. I need him to make me feel. Feel something other than grief. Other than numbness. I want to feel alive, in the sickest, most twisted way possible. I want him to burn me, destroy me, make me forget.

"Close your eyes, tesoro," he rasps. And I do. "Good girl."

He’s letting me win, and God knows I need a fucking victory right now. But did I win the war? Or simply the battle?

I whimper as he plants open mouth kisses on the underside of my jaw, my neck, my shoulders. His palm assaults my breasts, blissful pain spearing my nerve endings as he twists, gropes, squeezes. Neurons fire in my brain.

"Milo—" I cry as he nips at my neck, his sharp teeth grazing my throat. He peppers kisses in the valley between my breasts, his stubble rough against my skin, his taunting hand feathering down my stomach, past my mid-section, to my thighs, parting them, stopping at my pulsing sex.

Fuck.

"You are so wet for me, Kiara…” he growls, swirling his fingers against my slick slit, pressure building between my legs. My hips buck as he plunges two fingers into my soaking wet pussy, his thumb stroking my clit. His mouth latches onto my stiff nipples— biting, licking, savoring.

Buzzing. My body is buzzing from his expert touch, my toes curling from the pleasure, my lungs panting, quivering.

I expel wanton gasps as he whirls his fingers inside me, pushing in and out. His lips trail further down my belly, his tongue coating my skin with sloppy wet kisses as he settles himself between my legs. His strong hands coil around my thighs, spreading them apart like the red fucking sea. His balmy hot breath blows against my sex.

And then I die a sweet, torturous death.

"Fuck!" My breathless cries fill the room as his mouth crashes down against my clit, his impure tongue flicking, sucking, biting my sensitive nub as his fingers pillage me, annihilate me, send me to another fucking realm.

A realm of pleasure, depravity, greed, lust.

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